Scaramucci Says It’s Not Classy To Talk About How His Smart Wife Is Dumping His Ass

On Friday, reports emerged that newly appointed communications director Anthony Scaramucci’s wife made the wise decision to dump his ass on account of the fact that his face is stuck so far up Donald Trump’s.

Via Page Six:

Deidre Ball, who worked as a vice president in investor relations for SkyBridge Capital, the firm he founded in 2005 and sold to ascend to the White House, has filed for divorce from “The Mooch” after three years of marriage after getting fed up with his ruthless quest to get close to President Trump, whom she despises.

One source told Page Six, “Deidre has left him and has filed for divorce. She liked the nice Wall Street life and their home on Long Island, not the insane world of D.C. She is tired of his naked ambition, which is so enormous that it left her at her wits’ end. She has left him even though they have two children together.”

GOOD FOR YOU DIEDRE. You can do way, way better than a man who refers to himself in the third person as The Mooch. Besides, you don’t need to be around someone with a temper like that. As I would tell you if we were friends — you don’t need that shit.

In response to the news reports and many cheers for his wife’s very good judgment, Scaramucci has tweeted that it is NOT CLASSY for anyone to be doing that.

Minchia!

First of all, Mooch, the fact that your wife is divorcing you after this week from hell is, in fact, news. Whether you like it or not. Also, everyone seems to be complimenting your soon-to-be-ex-wife’s judgement, because we would all like to divorce you as well.

Second! You’re gonna talk about class after you just made this the most awkward week to be an Italian-American since Theresa flipped that table on The Real Housewives of New Jersey? Are you kidding me? You’re the one going on about Steve Bannon sucking his own cock and talking about killing people for snitching on your dinner party plans, I’m just over here telling your wife that she did a good job getting rid of your ass. Because you are, as we would say, a freaking cafone/festering sack of toxic masculinity. Who I will bet anything bellows “Hey! Where’s the olive oil?” after sitting down to dinner not because he does not know where the olive oil is, but because he expects his wife to go get it for him.